


Untold Tales

by yuletide_archivist



Category: The 13th Warrior (1999)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-25
Updated: 2008-03-25
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:35:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1624562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ibn finds relief from the killing in Herger and Buliwyf's ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Untold Tales

**Author's Note:**

> Written for zoemargaret

 

 

My name is Ahmed Ibn Fahdlan Ibn Al Abbas Ibn Rashid Ibn Hamad.

They, the ones who guided me back into the Righteous Path, called me Ibn, and I find that it is fitting for who I am now.

I am the Son Of my father, and his fathers before him. I am proudly born to the line of Ishmael, the son of Ibrahaim, father of the peoples of the deserts. We, who write our histories down, preserving the tales of the past for the children of the future, have a glorious history in the love of the one true God, following the commands of his One True Prophet.

They, however, the ones who taught me life and meaning outside the Word, have other ways. And when Herger the Joyous said he would pray to his gods, I knew in my heart that it was a sign of that which I, a faithful servant of the Faith, cannot fully admit to.

If I live to be as old as Father Ibrahaim did, I know that I will never live as fully as I did in those days that we, I and my Northmen companions, pledged all we were and could ever be to the service of saving a small village far beyond civilized man. That tale, I have told many a night, pleasing the Caliph, and shaming he who had led to my exile with my new-found place of favor.

The tales of Buliwyf and Herger are popular ones among those boys who seek to one day be bold adventurers, but how those children would turn aside and spit on their name for that which they taught me. There are other tales, though, tales that stay shut behind my lips, tales that may well cost me Heaven, ones that are remembered by the weakened flesh even after I have taken my wife in consummation of my vows of marriage. 

Taking to the battlefield was not an easy thing for me, a learned man with a thirst for more knowledge. I never had given thought to the pressure of death on the living, for as a good man of the Faith, I eschewed death in all its forms. Amidst the spilling of the blood and the sickening of my stomach, I was horrified at the uncleanliness around me. That my body betrayed the horror is only too well-known, or so the ones that now pass my tales on will say in their own ways. How I lost my control over the poisonous biles within my stomach, and turned aside to be unclean.

What none will ever know is the lesson Herger taught me. I had been torn by all I had done, by the sickness trying to coil in the pit of my stomach, and the curious tightening of my groin. When it had come to be the time, after that first battle, to lay our swords down and rest, so that we could fight again the next day, he had taken me to Buliwyf. To follow what they had said then had been difficult at best, though I remember catching Herger mention me as being but an unblooded boy. I had started to protest this, when I knew I had managed to be of some use in the fight, but Buliwyf's appraisal had stilled my tongue.

"You will stay at my side, Arab," Buliwyf had informed me. "Herger, you may be needed."

So it came to pass that I found myself alone with the pair of them. Herger was pledged by full honor to Buliwyf, and his never ending ability to be optimistic had given me some hope that I might one day return to the Lands of Faith. 

What I learned that night is the part of my tale I can never share with the Caliph. I see the hard-bitten soldiers among the guard, and wonder if what I learned there does exist among the men of my land, if perhaps, in Allah's compassion, there is mercy to be had for the weakness of flesh following the death of enemies.

I pray it be so, for my own eternal reward, even as I refuse to let the hidden memories escape my mind.

Herger, it was, who stripped me of enough armor to free my body of the poisons of battle. His words, always so reasonable and patient for my lack of knowing, kept me calm that night. When it was Buliwyf who moved to stand behind me, Herger kept my eyes caught in his gaze.

"Man is made to destroy, following the path to Ragnarök in due course. The battles we choose mark us to the gods for our bravery, honor, and valor." Herger's words had spun out in the melodic cadence he used when trying to teach me, falling on half-deaf ears, for the feel of Buliwyf's hand closing around me intimately had shocked my wits into hiding. "But we create, so that there are more to come after us, to fill the ranks that will be needed in that final battle. Our bodies know this, and strain to create life on the heels of death."

"But..."

"No." Buliwyf's negation had been as much command as any call to arms. I could still feel, these many years later, the strain of his own body pressed tight to me, and the infinite care he used in stroking me to completion.

"A man cannot fight well, if the conflict is not released," Herger had explained, and it seemed, like so much of what he shared with me, to be both enlightening and mysterious in one breath. I had no reference for it...so I had trusted in him. It had been natural to place hands on Herger, to let his hands guide mine down.

The feel of those two men, the way that we had eased the conflict of our bodies, will haunt me on nights shaken by distant thunder. For the first spilling of seed had led to more, as it had seemed only just to be sure no conflict remained in Herger or Buliwyf himself. When the night of Buliwyf's funeral had been upon us, Herger and I partook of other pleasures together, celebrating the life of our fallen king. It was the way of the North, and I had embraced them that much.

Perhaps I have damned myself in the eyes of Allah, but I cannot forget these hidden tales, for they have shaped me as much as the battles did.

I am Ahmed Ibn Fahdlan Ibn Al Abbas Ibn Rashid Ibn Hamad.

I will always be Ibn, at the core of who I am, in memory of those two men, and all they taught me.

 


End file.
